“This is pleasant!” said Tom, feeling himself all over to make sure that no bones were broken. “How my poor head does ache, to be sure; that tiger must have caught me a thundering lick with his paw! I do hope poor old George isn’t done for,” he added, kneeling down by the side of his friend; “he got it far worse than I did. Halloa, George! how are you, old chap?”
At the sound of his friend’s voice George Weston’s senses partially came back to him, and—much to Tom’s relief—he made an attempt to raise his head; but he had been sorely mauled by the leopard, and was quite unable to speak, or help himself.
Seeing this, Tom looked about for a suitable place to take him, and presently hit upon a small cavity in the hillside: thither he carried the senseless boy, and proceeded to dress his wounds as well as he was able; for George was much hurt, the leopard having severely lacerated his thigh with her formidable claws, besides biting him right through the forearm.
However, Tom made him as comfortable as possible; then, seeing that nothing more could be done until morning, he gathered some boughs, brushwood, and large stones, and with them built up a rough breastwork in front of the cavity—which might be described as a small cave about six feet deep, by five or six in height. Then he dragged the dead leopard within it, secured George’s rifle and the shattered remains of his own, and, after a heart-felt prayer of thankfulness for his escape, lay down beside his friend, and fell fast asleep.
The day was breaking when Tom Flinders was awakened by a violent blow on the legs. Jumping to his feet, he seized his rifle and looked over the breastwork; his appearance was immediately hailed by a loud chattering, and a volley of stones and other missiles came whizzing about his ears.
“Niggers!” Tom exclaimed, bringing his rifle to the “ready;” “but where the dickens are they?”
“Hi! what on earth are you about?” he shouted, as a big piece of rock knocked off his hat. “You’re an uncommon good shot, no doubt,” he went on, ducking down in order to escape another stony “projectile;” “but if I catch a glimpse of you, I’ll let you know that it is not a rook you’re pegging at.”
As the boy spoke he caught sight of a dark active form swinging itself from tree to bush on the opposite side of the ravine; without a moment’s thought, he raised his rifle and pulled the trigger, and down came the figure by the run.
“There!” cried Tom angrily, for his temper was considerably ruffled. “I’ll teach you to make a cock-shy of me!” But now the ravine resounded with ear-splitting cries, and to Tom’s utter amazement a whole troop of baboons appeared amongst the trees and bushes; and, after gibbering and grimacing round their deceased brother for a few seconds, they suddenly scampered off, springing from rock to rock, from tree to tree with marvellous agility, until they were lost to view.
“Why, hang it all! I must have bowled over a monkey!” was the boy’s exclamation. “Poor brute! I wish I hadn’t been quite so ready with my rifle.”